Someone Else's Dream (2 page)

“Has Steve read it?” Carla asked.

“Yes, he has,” the stone-faced Emily replied.

“Well, what’s wrong with it then?”

Emily’s mood and expression changed and her monotonic drone came to life.

“Well, you’ve killed her off for a start. She was the one character that sold your book; readers liked her, her character, her sexual exploits, simply, the sex. Where has all that gone Carla? That’s why we took you on in the first place, sex sells.”

Carla sat forward, made hand gestures which she hated doing but sometimes could not stop herself. This time her hands took on a mind of their own.

“I told you I didn’t want to do a sequel. I wanted to try something different and anyway it wasn’t the sex that sold the book; it was the moving story of a back-street kid come good,” scowled Carla.

“A back-street kid screwing her way to the top you mean,” answered the sarcastic Emily.

Carla could feel her blood beginning to boil.

“Only at the beginning; by the end, she had become famous in her own right,” challenged Carla.

“Famous and still gagging for it; well, she needs to gag some more,” said the dismissive Emily.

Carla thought that was absurd and she wanted to ask to see Woodhouse, but she knew she daren’t upset them. These people were her future. She didn’t want the argument. She rubbed the side of her nose and wished for once she wore glasses so she could take them off and buy some time. She tried to moisten her lips with her tongue, but there was no moisture; her mouth was dry.

“So, you’re not going to publish?” it was more of a statement than a question Carla posed, but the look on Emily’s face told her she wasn’t.

“Change the ending, bring her to life. Your first book was intimate, this one needs to be graphic; change it and we will look again. Charlotte has quite a following.”

“So, you want her alive and you want her fucking everyone? You, want porn?” Carla could not believe those words came out of her mouth and felt her face going red. Emily noticed this but wasn’t sure if it was rage or embarrassment that had reddened her face.

Emily took it as embarrassment, as she had always regarded Carla as too placid, to become angry.

“It’s what sells.  It’s what your readers want; they are the type of readers Charlotte will attract and people will fall in love with Charlotte because…”

Carla could see her soul-searching for the right words.

“...Because, she’s up for it!” said Carla, who sat back in her chair and looked down at her own feet.

“Exactly!”

Carla stood to leave and got her jacket off the stand. She slung it around her shoulders in a dramatic fashion.

“Carla,” Emily called.

Carla turned around to see Emily sitting at her desk, with her glasses off.

“You should be very proud. You have published a book. Most authors only have one in them and the second is always the hardest.”

Carla left without even replying.
Fuck off bitch!
Was resonating in her head.

*              *              *

She slovenly walked down the one flight of stairs to the exit leading onto the High Street. The frustration was building up inside her and at that moment she just wanted to shout out loud. She was glad she’d come alone as she didn’t want people to see how upset she was. She realised she had grown over-confident. Yes, she’d had a hit with her first novel, well half a hit anyway, but Emily was right, the second
is
the hardest. She had hoped they would have seen the attraction with the character Charlotte she had built. She’d foolishly thought Charlotte would sell the books.
How could I have been so naive?
She asked herself. She sort of realised the book had been her own way of getting rid of her demons, but the thrill of writing it had given her a purpose and perhaps an understanding of where her life was going wrong.

Carla had grown to love Charlotte, like the sister she’d never had. Those long arduous nights, sat at her laptop, typing away; she had almost given up her social life, except the odd night with Darren, and occasionally seeing her best friend Donna. All that seemed wasted at the moment. She stepped out into the drizzle, but in the distance she could see the clouds clearing and the hint of sunshine.

If it’s erotica she wants then its erotica she’s bloody well going to get,
she thought; even though deep down she knew that was a taboo subject for her. She was determined to prove that bitch wrong and Carla liked the feeling growing inside her; even if she wasn’t as confident as her determination led her to believe.

She stood on the porch of Alton house and went to pull her collar up on her jacket before she realised she didn’t have one. She hoped nobody was watching as she pulled the imaginary collar up, guessing she looked like a fool. She realised her top buttons on her blouse were still undone and she quickly fastened them. She pulled her skirt down, even though it didn’t need it, cursing herself once again for not wearing her jeans. Then crazily, she imagined she had pulled too hard and her skirt was around her knees and she was stood there in her tights and knickers. Pulling her skirt up a little, she checked for umbrellas in both directions. The coast was clear and she stepped out into the footpath, into the drizzle. She imagined people were watching her, pointing at the failed author, until she looked around and realised no one was paying her any attention at all.
Where do you get these crazy thoughts from?
She asked herself.

It only took her four minutes to get to the pay and display car park. She walked briskly, whilst looking out for the umbrella kids. During her walk she cheered up a bit when she realised how lucky and successful she had been, and how fortunate she was to have even had one novel published. She could now legitimately call herself a novelist. She decided she would re-visit ‘Charlotte Fights Back’ and give them what they wanted, only this time it would be bigger and better. Opening the driver’s side, back door, she laid her jacket on the seat, along with her bag. She was feeling so much better, and it felt like this was the kick-start she needed to get her going again.

She opened the driver’s side, front door and sat at the wheel, where she changed into the flat shoes she kept in the passenger side-well. Turning the key, she started the engine just as the passenger’s front door opened and Darren sat down. He was dripping wet and looked as if he had been waiting in the rain for a long time. Carla’s initial shock quickly turned into frustration and annoyance, as he fiddled with the heater controls in her car. She loved her car as much as she hated umbrellas.

“What are you doing here?” she asked not at all pleasantly. Darren didn’t seem to notice her harsh tone.

“I knew you were meeting the book guys so I came to wish you good luck. I missed you, as the bus was late, so I thought I’d wait for you and then I found your car.” He said it all, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You been waiting in the rain all that time?” she asked, her face distorted with confusion,

“Yeah!”

Carla admired his dedication, but she really didn’t want it at that time, nor the dripping wet, man who was currently soaking the front passenger seat of her car. She was thankful, though, he hadn’t taken an umbrella that day.

“I told you I was busy today. I thought we had arranged for Saturday,” she said, wishing she had said it more tactfully.

“I only wanted to wish you good luck,” he replied sheepishly,

Seeing the look on his face, Carla immediately felt a pang of guilt. She had let her own frustration boil over and taken it out on him. She leant over and kissed him on the cheek.

“You should have brought a coat,” she said, smiling at him, sitting there; looking like a lost, wet, little boy. He was dressed in a white T-Shirt and it stuck to him like a second skin. Carla thought it made him look sexy, showing off all his muscles.

“It was dry when I left!”

She rolled her eyes and gave him a smile that showed all her beauty; the same smile that had first sent Darren weak at the knees, when she’d smiled at him, over a table, in a Porthcawl bar.

They had been dating for five months. Darren was five years younger than Carla. He was a builder by trade and had the body to go with it. He worked out in the gym to tone his muscular frame, whenever he could. He had the clean-shaven, baby-boy pop star look; pretty instead of handsome. He looked younger than he was and had blonde hair that he wore in a 60’s Beatles style, with a fringe that was always just a tad too long. He wasn’t a lady’s man, far from it. He’d had had very few girlfriends before Carla and only a few sexual encounters. He could have had many more as the girls marvelled at his great physique, but Darren didn’t want any of it. All Darren wanted was love. He lived with his best friend, in a flat, in the centre of Porthcawl. Carla had met his friend Smithy, but had never stopped over at his flat. Darren was besotted with Carla and forever trying to please her, but his timing was usually lousy, as he was proving today.

Darren just hadn’t quite been able to grow up. As well as having those boyish looks, he still had, in some ways, a boy’s mentality about him; spending all day on the Play Station, when he was not at work. His mother still did his washing and ironing, even collecting it and returning it for him. If she ever forgot, or simply did not have time, well, there was always Smithy to do it for him. He was always having to be told when to have a haircut or what to wear, whatever the occasion.

Darren however did have one thing going for him, however. He was very likeable, everyone adored him because he was such a friendly lad; a little immature, like some mixed up child, but always friendly...and, of course, he had a body to die for. He was very difficult to love, but easy to like. He was also generous and liked to please others, whilst being very easily pleased himself. He loved spending his money on friends and then having to go and ask mum and dad to sub him. They always did too; they adored their only child. If there was a nasty bone in his body then it simply hadn’t been discovered yet. But, like all timid cats there is a lion inside, waiting to escape and roar.

They didn’t speak during the twenty-five minute drive; Darren fiddled with the car radio until he found classic FM and turned the volume up as he sang along to the radio, as Carla drove. His singing didn’t normally annoy Carla, even though Darren was tone deaf, but she wanted to drive home with her own thoughts and not have them doused by a wannabee pop singer. He was annoying her and she hated that; how someone she was so fond of could annoy her so easily.

She pulled up outside his place thankful she had gotten there; she needed some peace and quiet. His flat was a second floor conversion of a terraced house, looking up she saw the lights were on and guessed Smithy was in.

“I’ll see you at around seven Saturday,” Carla said as Darren opened the door to get out.

“You not coming in for a coffee?” he pleaded, as he stood on the pavement.

“No babe, too much to do,” Carla replied. She really didn’t want to see the inside of his bachelor pad. She imagined it full of takeaway packets and unwashed crockery as well as porn videos all over the floor. She had never seen a porn video in her life and had no intention of starting now.

“We could skip the coffee,” Darren said with a wink. She gave him a weak smile, momentarily thinking of Charlotte, in that hotel room.

“See you Saturday babe”. She blew him a kiss and off she drove. It was Wednesday 5pm and that would give her some peace and quiet to get some writing done. She turned the radio off and headed for home. It wasn’t until she had driven around the corner that she realised Darren hadn’t even asked her how she got on at the publishers.

She thought of umbrellas and where she would like to insert one. Then she shuddered, as memories came flooding back, wondering what part of her brain made her even think about that

*              *              *

She drove on; to her idyllic treat, her home that she loved so much. It was only two miles from where Darren lived, but you would swear it was a different world. It felt to Carla that Darren was a million miles away and she liked it like that. From the home, she had worked so hard to achieve, she could see Trecco Bay and Sandy Beach. The lights from the fairground could be seen in the distance, the hundreds of holiday caravans looking out onto the sea were something she loved to look down on and the whole place always seemed to be bustling with people, except in the cold winter months.